I Remember
by dixiedream1n
Summary: A lifetime summed up in the bond between a father and son...


**A/N**: "Laurë" is short for Laurefindë, "Glorfindel's" Quenya (true) name. It just seems fitting for my view on his character.

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**I REMEMBER**

I remember when I was very little, and I first met him. There are not many memories I have of that time, for I was very young indeed, but a few flashes of image and feeling remain. And that event is one of them. In fact, there are a number of images I recall from that point in my life. The haziest of all, barely there, is the warm face of a woman who could only be my mother. In the image she is smiling, and my heart somehow hears singing to accompany the picture, but that is all. That must be my youngest memory, for the next is of laying on something cold, being very frightened and crying. That memory is brief as well. The next one has stayed with me much clearer, through all my life. Storm-gray eyes, wide and bright with thoughts and emotions beyond a babe's comprehension, that somehow captured my attention instantly, and became in a moment all my mind's eye could see... and in that same moment, a stealing peace and safety.

I remember nothing else of that time now, although I have been told that I did when I was a child. Now I only have a thin white line along my right thumb, a scar that has never fully faded to attest to those first days of my new life, and the adoption that brought me into a new world. It was the world that would become all I would ever wish to know, for years upon end. And the bearer of those eyes would become the center point of my existence for just as long.

I remember when I first met outsiders not of our home valley. I was still very small, but sharp in mind, for I remember some things quite clearly. Such as the look on the Man's face when he gazed down to where I was hiding behind my father's legs, and the sound of surprise and derision in his voice, although I do not remember his words. I do remember my father's reaction. He took one step forward, away from me and toward the Man, and it was the first time I had ever heard him snarl. It would not be the last, and I myself have now felt that instinctive protectiveness within myself many times as well for my own children, but at the time I was all in awe, eyes wide as I dived to hide behind our golden-haired constant companion instead, and peered out to watch as the Man and his companions left the courtyard in quite a hurry. I still do not know what it is he said to them that caused them to do so; he would never tell me. But it made me feel very protected.

I remember walks in the gardens. Honestly, he would walk, and I would be running, to and fro, ahead and back. Looking back, I can hardly remember a time when I wasn't utterly happy, laughing about something that had delighted me. I would make him laugh as well when I showed him a rock or insect or leaf, or some other object that I'd found. When the leaves began to change colors, and I wanted to know why, he spent some time with a book and me in his lap trying to explain. When the snows fell, he answered my questions about that as well. When spring came and I was fascinated with the birth of stable kittens, he held me while we watched, and spoke to me of the cycles of life. Always, it seems to me now, he was teaching me. Always I had a thirst to _know_, and always his store of knowledge was mine for the taking. I took it for granted. I took _him_ for granted. I could never have imagined life without my father there.

I remember meeting my brothers for the first time. Full grown if still young, tall and dark-haired, the strangers in our home frightened me. They were very curious about me, but it was too much when one reached out to touch... I do not recall where he touched now, but I ran from it, and them. Laurë found me underneath his bed, and coaxed me out for dinner. Somehow, I remember not exactly how, he convinced me that they would not harm me. I still did not want to leave my father's arm while they were in the room for most of the evening, but somewhere along the way my shyness faded, and I remember waking up as one of the twins carried me to bed. From that day on, we were practically inseparable until they left home again at the end of the year. We celebrated Midwinter together, and they taught me new games in the snow. I missed them when spring came and they had to go. I remember that our father missed them too. He looked so worried when he watched them ride away that I tried to hug him to make him feel better, like he did for me. At the time I did not understand when he told me softly that there wasn't anything I could do.

My brothers came back a number of times, and I was always glad to see them and they me, but most of the time it was just my father, Laurë, and myself. A small family we made, but we were a happy one, and I felt no true fear or need. However, as I grew older, I have more clear memories, and they remind me that life was not often uneventful. Sometimes, it wasn't even all delights, such as the time I traveled with a group to the nearest human town. I was about twelve at the time, I believe, and full of energy and pride. I had only recently begun to learn the arts that all boys did, of archery and sword-play and the dance of feet and knife. I was proud of the things I knew, and delighted in the praise I received from my elder friends and teachers. I was confident of myself, of who I was, and perhaps the last thing I had expected was the reaction of the other boys that lived in the town. The rougher people of Eriador they were, not even holding the fine civility of the lands of the South that I would later see, so I suppose their reaction to one so different from them was not surprising to one old enough to know such. But I was not at the time old enough to understand.

And so it was that when I strayed from the adults' sides, and wandered away, I did not expect trouble. But trouble came nonetheless, in the form of a pack of boys who first teased me about dressing differently than they, and then when I didn't take that seriously enough, taunted me about everything else - the way I moved, the breadth of vocabulary I used even though Common was not my first language, the accent that came _from_ my first language. It bothered me, but I didn't want to get into a fight over it, so I tried to push past and leave. But when one of them, I can no longer remember his face, tossed out a slur about the Eldar that I traveled with, the people who were my friends and family, I could not ignore that. My father and Laurë came to my rescue with a speed I know no human could have matched, alerted to my distress by the bond my father and I shared, and the fight was quickly over, but not before I had taken a few bruises, and delivered more than a few of my own in my first real fight. My father scolded me sharply for "brawling like a common street rat", I believe he put it - he _was_ quite upset - but still, deep within, I think I felt a touch of pride from him as he tended my wounds later. I held onto that memory tightly ever after.

It seems my father was always coming to my rescue, as I grew older. A very memorable event was during my eighteenth year with my friends Aras and Racel, we all of a physical and emotional adolescence together though the span of years was different by decades. There was a period of some years there when the three of us were practically inseparable, and my father had had to act as healer to the results of our adventures many a time. This afternoon, however, we had gotten ourselves into even worse trouble, having wandered too far away from Imladris to be able to return before dark. The situation was compounded by Racel stepping into a burrow and injuring his ankle so he could not run. It was growing dark, and we were all quite frightened for we had heard entirely too many tales warning against traveling out after undomë lest the unwary encounter orcs. Armed only with practice gear, we were uncertain whether we would ever see home again. I can remember it now with a chuckle, but at the time I was very embarrassed, for when we were startled by several of the guards out on patrol and also out looking for _us_, I am certain that I am not the only one who screamed. My father and Laurë were close behind, as were the fathers of my friends and Aras' older brother, and we were all very glad indeed to be found. Even if it did mean being lectured half the way home.

Then, I remember when my father told me the truth about my heritage. It was the day I came of age, and it was the day my life changed. What he told me was a wondrous thing, that I suspected at the time, and know now, many many other men would have hungered for. But I wanted nothing to do with it. I do not remember exactly what I said, but I do remember it was not very kind. I remember it had something to do with accusing him of taking me in only because of my bloodline. I do remember clearly the look in his eyes when I turned and ran from his study. The image burnt into my mind like a carved picture that would never go away... has never gone away. Shock, a touch of anger... but mostly pain. Pure pain. I ran from the sight, ran from the things I had been told and the gut-twisting knowledge of the pain I myself had caused. I ran, and pushed any aside who tried to talk to me, and hid under a tree in the far corner of the gardens to cry.

Sunset came, and sunset went. Miserable, still young even though with my birthday I was officially of age, I curled tight under the branches. I had about convinced myself that no one would ever love me again, and that I was not worthy of anything good, when the last one that I had expected, and the one I most wanted to see, came into my corner. He came to me, and knelt down, and pulled me into his arms, and all I could do was cling to my father, the only parent I had ever truly known, and cry again. He simply held me, and whispered to me, and finally asked me to come indoors. I went, vowing to myself never again to be the cause of that look of pain on his face. For the things I had shouted, I knew were not true. I knew he loved me. I knew my heritage had nothing to do with it; indeed, he had a particular disliking for a few ancestors of mine. That day, I learned much more than my birth-name, or my birth-right. I learned in my heart of hearts of my father's love.

I remember when I thought I had finally, utterly, destroyed that love. It was not many years thereafter, when while coming home from a trip I met a young elleth in the gardens. Somehow I knew her before either of us had spoken a word, and she likewise. Our soft laughter was nearly the first sound either of our voices made when we first met, except for her singing which had drawn me in the first place. Wild with joy, I knew I was in love - nay, more than that. I knew that I, in the way of the Eldar not of Men, had found the one who was destined to be my wife.

That joy lasted only several nights, until finally I mentioned my new love to my father. He was excited for me at first; he wished to know who it was. Not suspecting that there might be anything wrong, I joyously spoke her name. The look in his eyes turned to steel.

That evening, I learned that my dear new friend and love was none other than my father's own blood daughter, whom I had never met, who had just returned from staying with her grandparents in Lothlórien, where she had grown up since her mother's loss. That evening, I learned that my father's protectiveness extended to more than I. That evening, my world fall apart. The next morning, I left, not to return for many years.

I remember when a small hobbit brought me back home. There were four, actually, but it was the one who held the One Ring who so desperately needed the help that only one person I knew could provide. The little one was dying, fading quickly from his wound and the touch of Shadow both, and so I ran for the greatest Healer I knew. I ran to the one I had once called father. I expected to leave again quickly, return to my Ranger's life and posts in the wilds, but several of my old friends convinced me to stay. So I stayed. I sought him out several times; I learned that little had changed. He still refused to give me his daughter's hand. Yet, at the same time, I could see something in his eyes that gave me a flickering of hope - hope for which he had named me as a child - that maybe, just maybe I might still hold a part of his love. It was for that flicker of emotion in his eyes that I stood at the Council and chose to join the Fellowship... and to seek to regain the heritage I had fled from so many years before.

The next year was achingly slow and whirlingly fast all at once. Battle, running, walking, war; my world narrowed, until all that mattered was getting the Ring to Mordor... and gaining back the respect of the Lord of Imladris. Despite my hard-sought goal, however, I do not believe I ever really thought I would be able to. But when one night at the edge of Rohan I came face-to-face with the one I thought I would never see so far from home, I could not help but hope. "I come of behalf of one I love" he said, and though he spoke in that moment of his daughter, when I looked into fierce gray eyes I saw more than her father. I saw my own.

I remember when they gave me the kingdom, the throne, that so many had coveted, the one I had never wished for. I remember that day vividly. But not because of the crown set upon my head. Not because of the fine clothes I was given to wear, or the gifts bestowed upon my new kingship. It was because that day, I was finally given the hand of my Lady. And that day, I finally, once more, saw pride behind the tears in my father's eyes.

And now, years later, here I stand again, at the birth of my third child. A son and a daughter we have already, and I have long since learned of the other side of the relationship between father and child. I would defend my children with my life. I would bring down the stars for them to touch, if I could. I would give my kingdom for their happiness, and kill to protect them. Now I understand. Finally, I understand. A smile spreads across my face at my thoughts, and widens even more as a tiny warm bundle is placed in my arms. The gray eyes of the only healer we would allow in the room twinkle at me, and I see in them hints of memory, of his own children being born... and as his hand rests upon my shoulder, I know that I am not exempt from those memories. I smile back as he returns to my wife to finish cleaning up after the birth, and after a few minutes of cuddling return my new daughter to her exhausted mother's side. As she takes her babe back into her arms, I look back up. My father only smiles slightly, and kisses both I and my wife on the forehead before leaving the room, leaving us to our own family as our elder two children rush in past him.

I remember so many things... a century of memories, now; longer than any human should expect to live... any human that is, who has not elven blood. As I watch go the being who gave me that blood, I am drawn to follow, nearly on his heels out into the hallway. I place my hand on his shoulder, and he turns. We share a long glance between us, equals yet still family, and finally he smiles once more, warmly, and I grin.

And if the people standing in or passing through this hallway look on in surprise as Elessar of Gondor, King of Men, and Elrond of Imladris, Lord of Eldar, wrap each other in a warm embrace, it is only because they cannot remember the things that I remember.


End file.
